I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

33 (NEW)

CHRIS

I heard the front door close, which was a few seconds ago. Hmm...where is Sam? I sit in a sunny breakfast nook in a yellow kitchen with light wood floors. A kitchen I snuck into late at night to have sweets, a place that became my comfort zone, where I stuffed my face instead of coming out to my parents. Everything is exactly the same.

"So how long will you two be staying?" My mama pours a glass of lemonade.

"Umm...I'm not sure yet."

"Aren't you two working?"

"I took vacation days." I lie. I don't know how to tell her the truth yet. "How did the talk go?" She hands me the glass, then walks to get a pan of raisin bread out of the oven. One of her signature snacks of the day. I take in the smell, becoming hypnotized by old memories; watching from a child's height, staring up at my mom as she mixed substances into a bowl. The sweet aroma of raisins drowning the kitchen. "Did you come to an agreement?"

"Yes, I allowed him in...I'll speak to your dad; no more spit battles will happen." My mama sits the pan before me, removing a polka dot mitten.

"Good. I came back because I need some quality time, to forget about things."

"What kind of things?"

I choose my words wisely. "I messed up with something...I'll tell you later."

"So mysterious." She pokes, then sits opposite me. I begin to cut a piece of the hot bread, taking a napkin from a rack on the table, and using it as a plate. I pick the hot bread with the tips of my fingers. "What's wrong?"

"It's just growing pains...I guess." I laugh shortly.

"Tell me." She pleads, her gaze worried.

I stop plucking the bread, and snack on it. "I don't know where to start, without sounding crazy."

"How serious is it?" She picks up a pitcher of lemonade from the table and fills two cups.

I struggle to word the response. Should I say why I'm really here? No. No. It'll make her faint or beat the shit out of me. Or disapprove of me. Okay. Think. She won't stop poking...so give her something related to the illegal money without saying the exact words. "My selfishness made me change my ways...I'm not proud of how I handled things."

"With Sam?"

"No, just with life decisions, I'm trying to be a better person."

Mama huffs. "I guess that's all I'm gonna get, huh?"

"Yeah." I sip on the lemonade. "For now."

The front door opens again; I stand abruptly. "Reba, who's car out front?!" My father yells back with a deep, southern snarl of a voice. I look to my mother, anxiously, then head to the foyer. "There are bags here too." I catch his attention. A tall, lean man with a bushy beard and hair in a ponytail, spots me. His blue eyes and circle, pie face freezes. My dad takes a good look at me before shouting a grunt of excitement and spreading his arms wide. "Son!" He celebrates.

I walk to him, hoping he doesn't blow up when he hears that Sam is here. I accept his hug, meeting another nostalgic scent. Wood stainer and sawdust.... details of his shop.

"Surprise!" My mom yells.

"Well, this is certainly that! What brought you back? You got sick of bad weather, I bet. Living in Iceland finally broke your spirit, huh?"

"Kinda." I separate from him. "Umm...can we talk?"

"Sweetie, I think I should be the one-"

"No," I cut off my mom's words. "I got it." I eye the hole in the wall. "We can fix that up and talk, okay?"

My dad becomes lost as to why a hole with fallen drywall is present. "Yeah...sure, we can do that."

I nod then open a side door that leads to the attached garage. I don't look back, my mind's mission is to get the drywall, the tools, and paint to fix the result of an unexpected outburst. Where did that rage come from anyway?? I can't do that again. I won't lose control again.

The garage is neat; bicycles line a corner, tools hang on the walls, garden seeds bags lay flat against a back wall with a latter. I unfold the latter and balance it on the wall, checking its stability by shaking it a bit, before climbing to a half roof compartment with a sliding door.

There, drywall is stacked, I tug a small piece from the collection and climb down. I pant, out of breath. I take tools from the wall and grab a white paint can beside the seeds. My feet eagerly head back inside.

My father kneels at the hole, using a tape measure he always clipped on the back of his pants like a gun. In faded, gray, overly washed jeans, and a red plaid shirt. A grandfather's clock ticks beside a shoe rack. I kneel beside him, laying down a utility knife, straight edge, drywall saw, and a sanding block.

Damn, how did I remember all this? I take the knife and cut a square out of the wall, following where my dad outlined with pen.

"So, what's up?"

Just rip the band-aid off, come on. "Sam is here." I count to five in my head, breathing slowly, preparing for an attack on my nervous system.

"Hmm." Is all he says, he places down the pen and watches me cut. Wood pillars peer from inside the skeleton of the wall. "Is that why that woman begged me to be civil?" He concludes. "I can't make any promises

"I know." A whisper escapes me.

"Your mother says you two are here as friends. Is that true?"

The lines on my forehead bunch together. Why would mom say that....what? No, she didn't go out to the car and change shit to her liking?!! Wow! Just...

I make to protest, but something stops me.

Maybe she said this to better smooth over the situation with dad...to not have him start a scene. Maybe...maybe I'm jumping to far fetched conclusions. I fix my face, easing away from scrutiny.

"Yeah..." I play along. "Just friends." Dad begins sawing the new drywall to fit into the hole. My face gives away the lie when he isn't looking.